


Daylight

by thebearking



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gender-neutral Reader, Groping, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Other, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-23 13:19:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7464834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebearking/pseuds/thebearking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The morning after your first time with Bucky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Daylight

He awoke to the feeling of a slight breeze from the half-open window and a warm, soft weight curled up against him. He rubbed his eyes before opening them, blinking up at the pale gray ceiling. He slid one hand down his body until it met the arm draped across his chest. The other slid farther down to the leg hooked over his hip. He glanced over to his left, where you lay beside him, your face relaxed as you snoozed, your side rising and falling at a slow, even rhythm. Each inhale and exhale reminded him of how warm and _real_ you were. You stirred slightly, making a soft noise as you snuggled closer into his side. It sure was a sight—you, cuddled up to him with your cheek resting against his metal arm, the arm he’d hated for so long. He reached over to you with his right hand to tousle your hair fondly. You smiled in your sleep.

Bucky grinned and closed his eyes, the memories of last night flooding his mind all at once: Skin sliding and slapping against skin. Mouths furiously moving against each other and tongues slipping in to dance, to taste. Teeth grazing earlobes, necks, inner thighs, leaving marks along chests and hipbones. Fingers tearing at clothes, at hair, seeking the softness of bare and pliant flesh. Nails digging into backs, into shoulders, holding on for dear life. These vague sensations and flashes of color sharpened into specific images: His own metal hand grasping the back of your thigh while you rode him. His own hips rolling up to meet yours, thrusting farther inside of you, filling you up perfectly. Your head tipped back in ecstasy, crying out again and again until you both climaxed and your voice shot up a few octaves. God, what a beauty, all those sounds he could draw out of you as you came undone around him. He was so incredibly lucky.

Never did Bucky imagine being here, sharing his bed with you, your mouth having traced every inch of his body and his having traced every inch of yours. It seemed too good to be true, and yet here you two were, huddled close beneath the blanket he had pulled over the two of you last night. You had put up with all of his shit, stayed with him through every step of his recovery, still assisted him when the nightmares returned or the PTSD did its best to rip his mind to pieces… and now here you were, having shared yourself with him in the most intimate way Bucky could have imagined. Carefully, so as not to wake you, he turned onto his side, stroking your hair. He let his fingers wander from your hairline to your chin, down your jawline, until they cupped your chin. He leaned forward, eyes fluttering closed, and touched his lips to yours.

He lavished your mouth with chaste pecks again and again until he felt your lips form a smile. He opened his eyes to see you watching him, blinking groggily as you began to kiss him back, your arm lifting from his chest to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer. You giggled and pulled back for only a moment to mumble, “Good morning, handsome.”

“Mornin’, doll,” Bucky rasped, his voice gravelly with sleep. “You sleep O.K.?” He let his mouth wander, his lips trailing kisses along your chin. He slid his hand up and down your hip, squeezing here and there.

“Mmm, I slept alright,” you purred, enjoying the feel of his stubble against your jaw. “Can’t imagine why I was so exhausted last night. Someone must’ve tired me out.”

Bucky chuckled at the teasing lilt in your voice and rolled onto his back with a long, blissful sigh. He closed his eyes again and saw more flashes of the night before. He could practically hear the wild creaking of the bed as he pounded into you from above, even your sweet little moans as you begged him to go faster, harder. In spite of the explicitness of the memory, his lips turned up in a sweet smile. “Was last night real?”

“Hmm?” Your response made him turn to look at you in bewilderment. You feigned confusion, fixing him with a smug look. “Describe it to me and I’ll tell you.”

Bucky grinned even more widely than before, his eyes taking on a much smokier look. “You and me, in this bed,” he began, his voice husky. “Me”—he sat up and straddled your hips—“up here. You”—he rolled you gently onto your back with little protest on your behalf—“underneath me.”

You smiled delightedly. “And?”

His metal hand crept up your calf. “Your leg”—he hooked your right leg over his left shoulder—“right here.” He leaned forward, grinding against you. His length rubbed deliciously against the front of your pajama shorts, making you shiver. He leaned forward until his lips were right by your ear. “That ring any bells, doll?”

“Oh, it feels familiar, alright,” you mumbled, rolling your hips up into his, enjoying the friction created.

Bucky grinned and pulled back to look at you. “And sometimes—” In one fluid motion he flipped the two of you over, so that you hovered over him, propped up with your elbows on either side of his head. “—you up here, and me down here, enjoying the view.”

You dove in to press your lips against his, your fingers carding through his hair. Bucky sighed into your mouth, his metal hand laid flat between your shoulder blades and the other cupped delicately around the back of your neck. You tugged on his bottom lip with your teeth, making him groan, and he slipped his tongue into your mouth to dance with yours.

You grinned against his lips, feeling his hardness against your inner thigh. “Someone’s excited,” you teased.

Bucky chuckled and pulled away to look up at you, checking you out shamelessly. His hands slid down your spine to the backs of your thighs. “Baby, have you seen yourself?” His hands squeezed your ass. “Felt yourself?” He rejoined the kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth, and lifted his hips up to meet yours, pairing the motion with another ass squeeze. You groaned into his mouth from the combined sensations. “You’re heavenly, doll. Can you blame me?”

“Mmm, I guess not.” You sat up, raising your arms above your head and arching your back in a luxurious stretch, your neck and back cracking wonderfully. As you yawned, Bucky slipped his hands up under the hem of your shirt— _his_  shirt—and started rubbing your stomach. To his horror, you rose to your knees and shuffled off of him, hopping lightly off the bed.

“W-Where do you think you’re goin’?” he exclaimed, missing your touch already.

“Bathroom, Buck. I need to shower,” you answered on your way to the bedroom door. You decided it would be best to return to your own room and use your own bathroom instead of Bucky’s, what with him being so intent on finishing what he’d started. As much as you’d love for him to jump you in the shower, you knew you’d never get clean if he was in there with you.

Bucky groaned, turning onto his side so he could watch you go. He had to admit that the view of you from behind almost made up for your exit, your hips swaying with each step. In spite of his disappointment, the sight of your ass wrapped like a present in those tight little sport shorts brought a grin to his face. “You’re killin’ me, doll,” he called after you, rolling onto his back, “one pair of shorts at a time.”

You chuckled and left the door open behind you.


End file.
